Page 52 of The Girlfriend

T WO WEEKS LATER, SHE STILL HADN’T HEARD FROM DANIEL.

OUT-WARDLY she put on a show of being levelheaded and rational, acting as if it would all blow over.

Inside she was a writhing mess of anxiety.

There was no one she could talk to about it.

She and Howard were more estranged than ever and didn’t even seem to achieve their occasional meals together now.

He’d send her a text telling her he had a late meeting at work and she’d end up having a solitary dinner in the kitchen.

Eating alone soon lost any appeal and she’d gotten into the habit of not cooking, sometimes not really bothering to eat at all.

She had lost a few pounds. As she inspected her face in the mirror above her dressing table, she noticed her cheeks were a little more hollow.

But it wasn’t really the sunken look that was different; it was the dullness of her eyes.

She quickly glanced away. Tonight might take her mind off things.

She was going to a dinner party at Isabella’s.

A handful of friends had been invited, Isabella said, then had followed by asking if Howard would be working, rather than asking if he was free to come.

Laura hadn’t pressed for an invitation for him.

He wouldn’t go anyway—not with the way things were between them.

She wasn’t really in the mood for lots of jolly conversation, but it was better than staying at home .

She hoped Isabella was going to be too busy to ask much about Daniel.

She hadn’t told her friend he’d moved out, and she didn’t want to get in an awkward corner making up something to avoid explaining about the lie.

No, the plan was: to get out of the house, have a change of scene, mingle with some old friends, and then come home early.

She was also going to avoid drinking too much, didn’t want to start feeling desperate or maudlin and end up blurting something.

She preferred not to even think about it; it was like a shameful secret, a big dirty black goblin that sat on her shoulder, poking her in the back of the neck every now and then, just to remind her it was there.

She slid the lipstick expertly over the edge of her cupid’s bow, just as she heard the elevator door open.

Howard was home. It instantly made her nervous.

She snapped the lipstick shut and put it down.

Then she left her bedroom. It was good he was home early, she told herself, as there was something she wanted to ask him, had been wanting to ask him for a while now.

She headed into the living room, where Howard, still in his work suit, was pouring himself a whisky.

“Good day?” she asked with forced brightness.

He turned, saw with some surprise that she was dressed up, but didn’t comment. “Fine. Yourself?”

Laura wasn’t going to tell him she’d tried calling Daniel for the third time since he’d thrown her out, and had, for the third time, gotten his voice mail.

She’d not left a message, didn’t see how she could really expand on the previous two.

But the lack of communication was killing her, and somehow she had to get onto the subject.

“Yes, great, thanks. You up to much tonight?”

“No, not really. Been a long week.”

“Meant to be a nice weekend. You catching up with anyone? Seeing Daniel?”

It was about as subtle as a brick, but she kept her fixed smile in place.

“Not got any plans to,” he said slowly.

She braced herself and any pretense left her. The question had been burning away for days and she had to know. “Has he been in touch? You know, since he moved out?”

Howard took a sip of his drink. “Yes.”

It cut her down, even though it was the answer she’d secretly expected.

“Is he okay?”

“I take it you’ve not spoken to him.”

She didn’t feel the need to reply.

He was awkward. “He’s fine. Busy at work. Doesn’t have a lot of spare time. You know how it is, these trainee doctors.”

Knowing he’d lied to spare her pain made it all the worse. If Daniel had time to speak to his dad, then he had time to speak to her.

“Is Cherry still living there?” Her voice sounded tight, strangled.

He looked at her. “You want me to answer that?”

Laura took a deep breath and glanced around the room without really looking at it.

“Leave it, Laura.”

Hurt, she looked at him. She didn’t want to get into another argument. “Right, well, I’d better be off.”

“Going somewhere nice?”

“Just to Isabella’s.”

“Well, enjoy.”

She was about to say, why didn’t he come too, seeing as he was back earlier than expected, but he’d already turned away, was fixing himself another drink. She nodded at his back and went into the hall, put her shoes on and left.

* * *

She was the last to arrive. Isabella had hired caterers, whose staff was also acting as a sort of butler, and a young woman with sleek dark hair, who reminded her of Cherry, took her coat.

She was led into the front room, abuzz with chatter and good humor, and she recognized most of the people there: Diane and her husband, Phillip, who’d come to the BBQ last year, as had Sally and Edward.

A couple of others she’d seen at Christmas, but no one since, as socializing had taken such a knock over the last few months.

No one noticed her. She stood just inside the doorway, on the periphery, unable to join the flow of the party.

Laura felt as if she didn’t belong, as if, should she go over and try to join the conversation, they’d turn with cool glances.

She’d lied that her son was dead. Laura was under no illusion what these people would think if they knew.

They’d reel in shock and a collective muted horror.

Even if they knew the truth about Cherry, it wouldn’t be enough to justify what she’d done.

She’d said the unsayable and allowed it to permeate deep into other people’s lives.

They’d put themselves above such sordidness.

They’d judge, gossip, some maybe even getting a kick out of the eyebrow raising, the subtle amusement at her expense.

She was starting to regret coming, and wondered about just backing out and going home, when Isabella spotted her. She waved delightedly and headed over.

“Darling, you’re almost late, I hope it’s not because you’ve been working yourself too hard.

” She didn’t wait for an answer, but kissed her on the cheek and signaled for the waitress to bring over some champagne, holding her own glass out at the same time for a refill.

“Come and meet my new friend, Andrew. You look great, by the way. What a beautiful dress. Silver gray does wonders for your eyes.”

Laura was pulled in the direction of Isabella’s husband, Richard, who was talking to an energetic, wiry man with gray hair and a tanned, weathered face.

“Andrew, allow me to introduce you to my great friend Laura.”

“Hello, Laura.” He held out his hand warmly and she took it as Isabella looked on.

“Laura is a television producer, and Andrew runs an exporting business. Oh, we’re ready,” she said as a gong went off in the dining room, and Laura found she’d been seated next to Andrew.

As she looked around the table, she realized they were the only two people in the room who had arrived alone. A flash of suspicion crossed her mind and then it became clear during the first course .

“So, what do you do for fun?” asked Andrew.

Laura smiled. “It’s questions like these that always remind me I need to take more time off.”

“I know what you mean. Running a business, it’s a monster that chews up all your waking hours.”

“So, not much time for anything else?”

“I do try and keep fit.”

“What’s your thing?”

“Triathlons, mainly. Set myself a target twice a year.”

Laura kept smiling, but inside she was deeply uncomfortable.

She’d expressly told Isabella not to set her up.

It felt like another weight on her shoulders, an evening she had to spend being polite to a man that she had no interest in, at least not romantically.

What had he been told? Christ, it was so embarrassing.

She was suddenly angry, which made her feel exhausted, which in turn angered her more.

She got through the meal as best she could.

More than once, she wondered what Daniel was doing.

When was she ever going to hear from him?

The questions whirled around her head, tormenting her while she fended off polite questions about the difference between a director and a producer.

She announced her departure as soon as was reasonable.

Andrew said a perfunctory good-bye and she felt a flash of guilt—he knew she hadn’t been keen on her dinner companion.

Damn Isabella for being so interfering. She came over then, said she’d escort Laura to the door.

“I wish you weren’t leaving so soon.” Isabella peered at her, noticed her tense mood. “You are okay, aren’t you? Not coming down with anything?”

“No, Isabella, I’m not.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

“You either think I’m some sort of floozy or consider my marriage dead, neither of which is a particularly great sentiment from a so-called friend.”

It was harsh, too harsh, but it was said. Laura immediately felt guilty when she saw Isabella’s look of surprised hurt. But somehow she didn’t know how to, or didn’t want to, make amends.

* * *

Laura left and got into the waiting cab that had been called for her.

Her mood didn’t improve on the way home.

When she got in, she found Howard not there.

She went up to the second floor; seeing no light under his door, she tentatively knocked, then quietly opened it.

His room and his bed were empty. He wasn’t in the den, either, and with a sinking feeling, she realized he must have gone to Marianne’s.

She felt a flash of anger; she should have chatted up Andrew, after all.

Not that he’d be interested now. Why was she able to burn bridges so easily these days?

Alone, she went into the kitchen and fixed herself a glass of wine.

This wasn’t how she’d foreseen her life: her marriage a sham, despite her heated protestations to Isabella, and her only child estranged from her.

She was suddenly hit with such a severe slice of loneliness, she was winded.

What would happen if she lost them, both of them?

The sadness that captured her stripped her raw and she got up from the kitchen table.

Leaving her wine behind, she hurried up the stairs, tripping on a step halfway, then ran into her room.

She sat at the desk. She had to do something.

She couldn’t just let Daniel go on, not knowing how she felt, letting that girl twist everything.

A photo was hung above the desk, a black-and-white shot of her and Daniel when he was a baby.

She looked up at it now and saw his delighted, adoring gaze as she held him above her head.

Something caught in her throat. She’d poured so much into him, so much of herself.

He was her joy, a person she had in part created in every sense of the word, her investment, her baby.

She’d taught him how to write his name, to catch a ball, to ride a bike.

Encouraged him to debate, to have an opinion, to stretch his mind.

Shown him how to cook and how to treat women.

If he wouldn’t let her in the flat and wouldn’t answer her calls, she’d have to try something else.

An e-mail was risky; Cherry used Daniel’s computer, this much she knew.

And she couldn’t post a letter—there was a good chance it would be intercepted.

The only option was to give it to Ian, the porter, with strict instructions it was only to be handed to Daniel.

She picked up her pen and started to write.